coming to terms
by princess-june
Summary: john looks at his life on the anniverary of Luke's disappearance


The park was deserted. The mist crept gently along, its icy fingers chilling everything it touched: the grass, the trees, and the tiny spider, which moved with such ease through the wet grass. It scurried stealthily from blade to blade, heading somewhere unknown. Perhaps it couldn't bear the cold anymore, perhaps it had a destination, and it was hurrying back to where it belonged. It carefully navigated its way through the morning dew, the drops surrounding it twice its size, glittering like diamonds as it persevered. Dew was an unusual thing; it was there, but for such a short period of time. Everyone could see it, but before its time it was snatched back from the world, back to where it began. "Like so many things", reflected John miserably. It was a morning just like this, exactly like this, when it had happened; every parents worst nightmare. Four long bloody years; things hadn't gotten any easier. Sometimes they did, for a brief while he'd forget, but it always came back to haunt him. He couldn't help it, his mind almost always ended up back at that young, smiling face. That innocent, smiling face as the little boy took his hand, begged him to get out of bed and watch him ride his new bike. John smiled a sad, fleeting smile. How could he be gone? His heart filled with anger, deep dark anger, at the memory of his son's fate. He didn't deserve to be taken, surely, could God hate him so much as to allow someone to snatch his little boy, to steal him, and take away his young life in one breath. Bastard. John slumped further down the bench, not bothering to pull his coat together as the frosty wind reached out, its chill gripping the spider once again. Even with his head in his hands, he could not allow himself to mourn, to admit defeat, to admit.. John signed, a loaded tear forming in his eye against his will. He still blamed himself. He would carry his pain and grief alone to the bitter end - it was just the sort of man he was. He would always blame himself. He would never be able to do enough or suffer enough for Luke's death. He should have been there for his son; he should have been there for his ex-wife, instead of pushing her away with his belief that he had failed their child. She had moved on now, and he supposed he had too. Things were different now. Like with Monica. His heart warmed slightly at the thought of her, her smile, the way her hand felt in his. He had left her tucked up in the warmth of their bed this morning, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder as she slept, his only apology for allowing Luke to come before her, for allowing Luke to be first in his mind today. He knew she would understand. Perhaps God didn't hate him; perhaps Monica was an angel, with her soft hair, her warm smile, the way she would look deeply into his eyes as they made love. They often talked - really talked - and she would always be there for him, to hold him as he grieved for his son, and she never made him feel less of a man for it. But when he blamed himself. No. " I love you John. And Luke loved you too. But you don't deserve it, don't put yourself through this", she would whisper softly, her sparkling eyes betraying the sadness she held for Luke since his death. She would be awake now, making her coffee, her thoughts filled with the day ahead, wondering if today was really a good day to get the Christmas tree after all. " Whatever is best for John", she would decide. That was Monica, always putting others first, always considering other peoples feelings before her own. She was always there. Even when he had shut her out, lost in his memories of Luke, even then. She was always there. Perhaps this Christmas would be different. He would be with Monica this year, she would lie in his arms and he would whisper that he loved her, and she would place one of her gentle, sweet kisses on his lips, and he'd know, as if there were any doubt, that she loved him too. Perhaps from now on things would be better. Christmas would come and go, and he would be able to think of Luke, and smile at the happy times they shared. Perhaps he could let things get back to normal, and he could allow himself to be happy with Monica, without feeling guilty any longer. The weather would get brighter, and the spider would finally get home, back to the warmth of being where it belongs. John sighed. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would too. 


End file.
